Alone.
Bar stool king.
Proud whiskey shot shaking.
Holy horny hipster,
life stealer,
Fuckmonger,
gasping at a secret personal nihilist jihad.
Monstrosity.
A wordstuffed zealot hero cheat.
Proudly razing a shriveled skull consciousness and blank disinterest.
Always an offering at the table,
accepted and always inhaled,
soft and smooth like milk sheets
relaxed with a virgin maiden martyrs scent slowly held in with frigid
air pulsing lungs exhaled drunk and floating of the ground just a little,
Coughing loudly
and suddenly hard to swallow.
A moment of march hare clarity.
Raping angels,
terrorizing the ape gods,
fist fucking the resistance,
teeth gritting the allies,
embarrassed slightly,
and a pleasant shade of blue calm,
for just a moment,
and then
tainted again.
My Company
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